


Red Lips & New Friendships

by storyranger



Series: A Boy and His (Big) Dog [5]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: And Miz is Dumb, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Good Guy Corbin, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, if you don't count Total Divas, which I don't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: She really WAS sorry she’d slapped The Miz. She can’t take it back though. All she can do is stalk backstage, take a breath, and figure out a way to start damage control.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lirelsie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirelsie/gifts), [childoffantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/childoffantasy/gifts).



> Notes: Obviously, Total Divas? Sooo not cannon in this little ‘verse. This starts after the December 20 2016 episode of Smackdown and ‘A Very Merry Wrestlemas’ happens somewhere in the middle of it. (Oops I lied about sticking to linear chronology.)

_“Maybe we should talk about **your** obsession with Dean Ambrose. After all, you’re the one sleeping with him.”_

 

She really _was_ sorry she’d slapped The Miz. Not because she regretted it. She’d been itching to hit that bastard for weeks, but she hadn’t meant for it to happen on live television. And Renee was painfully aware that her actions were going to be taken as a confirmation of fact by the WWE Universe, rather than the firm denial they were meant as.

She can’t take it back though. All she can do is stalk backstage, take a breath, and figure out a way to start damage control.

 

***

 

Dean’s backstage in an empty locker room when his phone goes off. He’s still staring dumbfounded at the television screen; he answers the incoming Facetime request almost as an afterthought.

“Dean, you mind explaining to me what the fucking hell is going on?” _Roman_.

“No fucking clue.”

“Are you sleeping with Renee?”

“Jesus! Roman!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“For fuck’s sake, no! I’m not sleeping with Renee.”

“Okay.”

“Why would I risk this? Us? I ain’t the smartest guy around but I am not _that fucking stupid_.”

“So why did Miz-”

“I don’t know, okay? I have no idea what’s going on. Miz has been lurking around more, but I’ve just ignored him.”

“Lurking?”

“Picking more fights then normal. Trying to start shit backstage. Fucked off after Corbin told him the next time he bothered us Corbin would knock Miz’s veneers up his nose.”

“Gross.”

“Corbin prefers ‘metal’.”

“So Miz just left you alone?”

“Backstage, at least.”

“I still don’t get why Renee slapped him halfway to next week.”

“I’ll talk to her, okay? After my match. Find out what’s going on.”

“You sure you’re good with that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” There’s a long silence, then Roman smiles and says,

“She sure can hit, can’t she?”

“And you have a jealous streak a mile wide, brotha.”

Roman’s face falls. “I’m sorry, _uce_. I don’t mean to get all possessive like that. Just slips out sometimes.”

“S’okay. Still love you. Even when you’re being a bitch.” Honestly, a tiny part of him even finds it flattering.

Roman ignores the sass and responds with “Good luck against Harper, baby.”

“Thanks.”

 

***

 

An hour later, Dean’s wandering the halls backstage, looking for Renee. His head is still pounding from the surprise beatdown Miz gave him after he defeated Harper, and his back is going to kill him tomorrow. He pushes the pain to the side and keeps walking. He knows Renee has to be in the studio for Talking Smack soon. She can’t have gone far.

In the end, it’s easier to find her then he thought it would be. He hears yelling coming from a dressing room in an empty hallway and catches a glimpse of short blond hair through the half-open door.

“What were you thinking, Renee?”

“Becks, listen to me-”

“Daniel Bryan could have you fired for that.”

“Becks, I’m didn’t meant to-“

“You realise what that looked like, right?”

“Becks, I’m _sorry_.” Renee’s voice cracks a bit.

There’s a long pause. Dean slips into the room across the hall, aware that if Becky comes out and notices him listening he’s liable to suffer injuries.

“Whatever. See you tomorrow.”

 

Dean waits till Becky has stormed around the corner before he quietly enters the room Renee is in. She looks like she’s about to cry.

“Dean?” she asks, softly. _How much did you hear_ , she thinks.

“Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on, Renee?” he asks, as gently as he can manage.

Renee bursts into tears. Dean, for lack of a better idea, puts his arms around her and hugs her stiffly. It seems to work, because after a minute or two she dabs her eyes with the heels of her hands and looks up at him.

“I didn’t know what else to do. The Miz has been sniffing around both of us and making digs at me and I thought if I let him believe we were dating, he’d drop it. I never thought he’d make a comment like that on live TV. I wasn’t thinking when I hit him, I just… I just… I was so _angry_.” She looks down at her hands, as if still shocked by what they did to Miz’s face. “I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand.”

“Renee?” He’s trying to keep his tone level and quiet; he’s not angry at her, he’s angry at The Miz, but Roman’s taught him that yelling about absent people usually scares the present ones.

She raises her head slowly to meet his gaze.

“I believe you.”

Relief floods her face, her shoulders visibly dropping as she exhales.

“But I need to figure out what that scumbag’s game is. What did he say to you?”

“He said… he said he knew you were sneaking around with someone. Said he knew it was someone who had friends on both rosters. Someone who could get backstage on Raw and Smackdown.”

“ _Fucking hell_ , I told him we needed to be more careful.”

“Him?” Renee looks up at him curiously. Dean realises too late that he’s just outed himself, but Renee doesn’t seem disgusted or anything. In fact, Dean could almost swear there’s something like _hope_ in her eyes.

“Don’t… don’t spread that.”

“I won’t. Dean… I’m gay too.”

“You’re gay too,” he repeats, and it clicks. “You’re with Becky.”

“Ireland… it’s not great about stuff like this. Hell, when she was born it was still a _crime_. She’s not out to her folks or her friends or anyone besides me, really. If it gets out…” she trails off for a second, then shakes her head fiercely. “It can’t get out.”

“Okay. We should get the backstory straight though. Make sure I don’t go contradictin’ you and blow it.”

“You serious?”

“You’re a good kid, Renee. If Miz wants to believe we’re dating. I got no problem with that. Way I see it, protects us both.”

Renee thinks for a minute. “It’s Roman, isn’t it?”

Dean cracks a small smile. “Yeah. It’s Roman.”

“He looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the universe.”

“Sometimes I think he’ll get tired of slumming it with me.”

Renee laughs softly and shakes her head. “I doubt it.”

Dean reaches over and musses her hair, and he gets the first real smile out of her since he stepped into this dressing room. She swats his hand away and reaches up to straighten her now-chaotic locks.

“Damnit, I have to host in a minute,” she gripes playfully, moving to the mirror to give her makeup a quick check. She straightens up after a moment, taking a deep breath.

“You sure about this?” she asks, suddenly serious again.

“Wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

She nods, satisfied. “Okay. Give me your number and we can text about the backstory.” She pulls out her phone and hands it to him. Dean clumsily adds his info to her contacts before handing it back. His hands are shaking slightly; despite his confident assurances, he’s just as nervous about where this lie could lead. Renee stands there for a long moment.

“Don’t you have a talk show to tape?” asks Dean, finally.

“Yeah, I should go. Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean’s staring at the mirror.

“Thank you.”

Dean looks up to respond, but she’s already gone.

 

***

 

Renee texts him that night as promised, and they settle on some details that are specific enough they can both remember them, but vague enough no one is going to be able to catch them out. A blend of bits from both their real relationships; the closer to truth, the better the lie. It’s a blessing Dean’s always so cagey about his personal life, because Renee’s stock answer to something they don’t have a story for can be “Dean prefers to keep things private”, and Dean can continue giving the questioner pointed death stares the same way he’s been doing whenever someone asks about his childhood.

It’s a little weird, that the first time he’s actually talking in depth with Renee is to plan the finer points of a fake relationship, but she’s witty and nice. He’s not angry about getting to know her. He’s angry as hell Miz forced them into this position, but he was planning on gunning for the Intercontinental Title anyway. A little personal grudge is always nice motivation.

 

***

 

“So Miz wasn’t just picking fights, he was actually stalking you?” They’re sitting on the bed in Dean’s hotel room a week later, and Roman’s still struggling to figure out exactly what the fuck is going on. Dean’s banged up from an encounter with The Miz and his security goons a few hours earlier, but it’s nothing a gentle shoulder massage from Roman can’t fix.

“Look, I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Oh, right, because my boyfriend being stalked by a megalomaniac is a completely normal occurrence. Did Corbin know?”

Dean shifts guiltily in Roman’s lap before responding with, “… he was the one who caught Miz listening at my door while I was on the phone with you a few weeks back. That was when Corbin promised to knock his veneers up his nose and apparently he started going after Renee instead. Thank the fucking stars I didn’t have you on speaker that night.”

As fucked up as this whole situation is, Roman can’t help breaking out in a laugh.

“What?” asks Dean, shifting around so he can see Roman’s face.

“I just…I can’t stop picturing… picturing Miz with his ear pressed against your door like one of the Vaudevillians,” Roman chokes out, and Dean breaks down laughing too.

“Baron said he looked pretty stupid,” he finally says when they both regain their composure.

“So instead of thinking you’re seeing someone on the Raw roster, Miz decides it has to be a staff member, so he stalks Renee?”

“Far as I can tell.”

“And Renee is, in fact, sleeping with someone on the Smackdown roster, so he puts two and two together and insults the best worker the WWE has on live TV. Have I got this all straight?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s Renee holding up?”

“Not great. Becky’s really mad about this whole thing. Says it’s humiliating.”

“Rough.”

“Renee’s just trying to fucking protect her.”

“Yeah.”

“Roman?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re… okay? Right?”

“With you keeping us secret, or with you fake-dating Renee?”

“Both.”

“Look, our friends know. It isn’t anyone else’s business. And the shit with Renee? You’re helping out a friend, and I should expect that by now, because for all that you try to come off as an asshole we both know you’re a huge softie.”

Dean considers arguing back but decides he’d rather take advantage of his time with Roman then waste it arguing.

“When do we leave tomorrow?” he asks, flipping around so they’re fully face to face.

“Around five a.m.” Roman’s fingers ghost across Dean’s chest, the edges of his mouth quirking up into a grin.

“Good. Leaves us a little time for a round two before we need to sleep.” Dean goes in for the kiss, but Roman surprises him by rolling abruptly to his side, pulling Dean with him and pinning him against the bed.

“Getting a little ahead of yourself there, Ambrose?” he breathes into Dean’s ear, and it’s all Dean can do not to fucking _moan_ when Roman’s voice gets all raspy like that.

“Never wrote a cheque I couldn’t cash,” Dean growls in response, and their lips finally meet.

 

***

 

In a room two floors down, Becky Lynch is having a much less articulate reaction to recent events.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Becky, please just-”

“I get it, Miz crossed a line, you hit him. But leaning into it? Telling everyone you’re dating that lunatic Ambrose?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t get mad? Don’t ask why my girlfriend has decided to lie to the entire world? Seriously, love, are you _trying_ to hurt me?”

“ _Don’t call him a lunatic_.”

Becky crosses her arms, her face growing even darker. “Oh, so now I’m supposed to care about that scrawny eejit who’s been parading himself around as your boyfriend? Not bloody likely, love. This is-”

“JUST LISTEN TO ME!” screams Renee, shocking Becky into silence. Becky has about an inch on Renee, but right now it feels like Renee is suddenly several feet taller.

“ _Yes_. You’re supposed to care about Dean, since he’s doing this because I asked him to. I did this to _protect you_. Do you have any idea how scared I was that Miz had figured the truth out?” Somehow without either of them noticing, Renee has come right into the redhead’s space, her face inches from Becky’s, breathing hard. Her tone drops into a dangerous octave.

“Can I not get a fucking _millimetre_ of credit for managing to keep us a secret, or is that too much to ask?”

They lock eyes for a long moment. Renee takes a step back and turns away.

“I’m going to go. Call me or _whatever_.” It’s a savage callback to the last time they fought, and they both know it. Renee’s almost out the door before a gentle touch on her wrist makes her pause. The touch becomes a tug, and she gives in and turns around, unprepared for what she finds there.

Becky’s crying, ugly tracks of mascara making their way down her cheeks, and she has one hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sobs. She takes a step back and slides down the wall, coming to rest in a miserable heap on the floor. Renee closes the door and sits down next to her, letting her take her time before she speaks.

Finally Becky wipes her face with the back of her hand and breathes. She takes Renee’s hand, and tilts her head back against the wall, starting at the ceiling.

“ _Tá brón orm_. I’m sorry. I’ve been such a bitch to you. I’ve been so far up my own arse, I didn’t realise… I didn’t trust that you’d thought this through. I should have had more faith in you.”

“It’s okay, Becks.”

“No. It’s not. I was an absolute battle-axe.”

Renee puts an arm around her, squeezing tight. “I know. And I wish you’d listened to me sooner. But you listened. That’s enough.”

“Did... did you tell Ambrose? The truth, I mean?”

“He figured it out himself. He overheard you yelling.”

“Oh god. He probably thinks I’m scum for saying that stuff.”

“He won’t tell, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Can you be sure?”

“Damn sure.”

Becky nods, and finally leans into Renee’s embrace. They stay like that for a long time, before Renee finally rises back to her feet and reaches down to pull Becky up.

“Come on, Champ, up you get.”

“Must’a hit my head off that turnbuckle harder then I thought. Sounded like you just called me ‘champ’ instead of Alexa Bliss.”

“You’re _my_ Champ, title or no.”

Becky’s too tired to tease her, to protest, to do anything really besides let Renee lead her gently to the bed. She’d already changed into sweats before Renee arrived; she’d stormed back to the hotel in a snit and left Renee to make her own way home, a childish move she now deeply regretted. Renee swaps her navy jumpsuit for an oversized t-shirt and climbs in next to her, tucking Becky’s head under her chin.

For the first time in a week, they both fall asleep within minutes.

 

***

 

“Ambrose, dude. Red lips? That was like, the weakest compliment.”

“Fuck off, Seth.” They’re playing pool in the seediest bar in Las Vegas that Dean could find (which is saying something, really,) and Dean’s whipping Seth’s ass.

“Beautiful woman with great hair. Beautiful woman with brains. Beautiful woman with a perfect smile. Red lips was the best you could come up with?”

“Something I need to be telling Sasha there, Seth?”

“I don’t have to want to fuck someone to notice when they’re attractive. I have goddamn eyes,” Seth quips back, and Dean chuckles. “But seriously, don’t tell Sasha I said Renee was hot.”

“Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”

Seth shoves him, causing him to flub his shot.

“Fuck you.”

“I did nothing!”

Dean glares at him, and Seth relents. They both know Ambrose never misses a shot when he’s sober.

“Fine. I fucked up your shot.”

“Damn right, you cheat.”

Seth methodically moves the balls back to their original positions so Dean can retake his shot. Dean lines up carefully and shoots, sinking two balls. Seth rolls his eyes, but he’s actually enjoying himself. Watching Dean play pool is a thing of beauty. How someone so jittery can become so focused and still is wild to watch.

“Corner,” Dean grunts, pulling Seth out of his reverie. Seth still has five balls on the table, and here’s Dean calling the eight ball. It’s a dead easy shot, and he sinks it with barely a thought.

“Play again?” Seth asks, but Dean shakes his head.

“Not feeling it.”

“Wanna head out?”

“Yeah.”

Seth’s had a few, so Dean takes the wheel. Unlike Roman, Seth’s never had a problem with Dean’s driving; he tends to drive the same way when he’s alone, although he’s a little smoother on the accelerator.

“D’ya mind if we just drive around for a while?” Dean asks, and Seth nods.

 

Roman had spent Christmas with Dean, so his family insisted he visit for New Years. Sasha was likewise engaged, so Dean had invited Seth out to Nevada so neither of them would have to spend the brief break alone.

Mostly this had meant Seth playing endless hours of Madden NFL on the flat screen in the den while Dean watched DVDs of obscure indie promotions on a laptop beside him, with Seth’s dog Kevin sandwiched between them. It was the first time Dean had invited him over in two years, and the house was exactly the same as he remembered it, except for little touches here and there (a throw pillow, a blanket that _wasn’t_ black, a working toaster) that were clearly Roman’s doing.

Tonight Seth had finally dragged Dean out of the house to try and shake him out of his progressively worse mood. He was pretty sure Dean was just missing Roman, not regretting Seth’s presence in his house, and the fact that Dean hasn’t dropped Seth off yet confirms it for him. They drive for a while, going up and down the entire strip once before Dean takes them a little closer to the outskirts of town, pulling into a moderately-lit parking lot with a conspicuous lack of obstacles in the centre.

Dean turns to look at him. “You okay with some stunt-driving?”

“Long as I get a turn,” Seth answers, and Dean takes off. At first he sticks to donuts, but after a bit he lines up the car in the corner, aiming at the diagonal across the parking lot.

“What are you-” Seth begins, but before he can finish the question Dean has hit the accelerator. He jerks the wheel a few times and pulls the handbrake. When the car slides to a halt, they’re staring at the corner they started in.

“That’s a new one.”

“Handbrake turn.”

“Where’d you learn it?”

“ _Canada’s Worst Driver_.”

“Somehow that raises more questions then it answers.”

“Want me to teach you?”

“Hell yes.”

 

“It was Elise’s fault,” Dean says abruptly, as they’re driving back to his house.

“Huh?”

“Roman told her I was the worst driver ever, and she bet him she knew over 90 drivers who were worse than me. Roman didn’t believe her so she copied three seasons of _Canada’s Worst Driver_ onto his laptop while we were sleeping. Sami insisted we watch them in the van on the way back from Montreal.”

“They teach them STUNT DRVING?”

“Apparently it helps teach steering or some shit.”

“Still seems really dumb.”

They lapse back into silence until eventually they’re back in Dean’s driveway. He turns the car off and sits back in his seat.

“Better?” asks Seth.

“Better.”

They head inside, murmuring goodnights and heading off to their rooms. Kevin greets Seth with an excited yip, which he shushes as he picks the small Yorkie off the ground and cuddles him. He lies down in bed and stares at the ceiling, scratching the dog behind the ears as he does so. After a moment, Kevin gives a little bark and jumps off the bed, racing over to paw at the door gently.

Seth rolls his eyes and pushes the bedroom door open, figuring he’s asking to be let out, but instead of heading for the front door Kevin bounds off towards Dean’s room.

“What the fuck?” he hears Dean ask softly, and he reaches the half-open door to see Kevin sitting on Dean’s chest, clearly proud of himself.

“Apparently he thinks he’s a therapy dog.”

“Don’t need therapy, thanks,” Dean says, but he sits up a bit and starts petting Kevin almost automatically. Seth perches on the edge of the bed, stroking the dog’s tiny ears.

“Clearly he thinks you need him more than I do right now. He’s creepily good at sensing feelings.”

“M’fine.”

Seth raises an eyebrow at him.

“Miss Ro a bit.”

“Figured. Look, if I take Kevin back to my room, odds are he’ll just keep whining at me to bring him here.”

“He can stay. Don’t bother me none.”

They fall silent again, Seth’s hand still tangled in Kevin’s fur. The little thing is fast asleep, snoring gently. Dean gingerly tries to shift so the dog’s not directly on his chest, which earns a chuckle from Seth as the younger guy takes pity on him and carefully lifts Kevin, placing him on the mattress between them.

“Did you wanna stay too?”

“You’d be okay with that?”

“He’s your dog.”

“It’s your bed.”

“Your call, Seth. If it ain’t weird for you…”

“Nah. Not weird at all. What _is_ weird is sleeping in your jeans. You own other pants for a reason, bro.”

Dean huffs something that sounds suspiciously like “another mother-fucking-hen” but gets up to change anyway. When he lies back down, Seth finally swings his feet up and slides under the covers on the other side. They’re facing each other, and each of them has a hand on Kevin, the fluttering of the little dog’s heartbeat soothing them both.

“As if JBL fucking asked if you approve of her hitting Miz. Good call telling him you’re not her father,” Seth mumbles just before he falls asleep, and it takes Dean a minute to work out that he’s being complimented.

 “There will be an educational mauling next week,” he informs the sleeping duo. “I can promise you that.”

 

***

 

He’s almost grateful to The Miz for putting them through this trial in the end.

It makes the look on Miz’s stupid face as Dean wins the Intercontinental Championship and ends his stupid little “Reunion Tour” just that teensy bit sweeter.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Have I written enough fic to name this miniverse after myself? Is this the Rangerverse? Is that cute or pretentious? Who knows it’s 3 a.m. certainly not me.  
> Okay, starting *now* I promise the fics are going to be self-contained and not chronology-smearing overlaps of each other.
> 
> Also for anyone going “But Ireland is actually pretty great for LGBQT+ rights” I will respond with a) Renee is from Canada, a country that decriminalized being gay 24 years earlier then Ireland and b) in my headcannon, Becky’s parents are super conservative Catholic, and c) ‘pretty great’ is still not exactly phenomenal, and, from experience, no matter how well you KNOW people will react, the act of coming out can still be genuinely terrifying…


End file.
